


What Are You Doing Next Thursday Night?

by Ellidfics



Series: Captain Fraudulent:  The Outtakes [35]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, William Burnside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has an extra ticket to a concert.  Now to find out if Sharon wants to take it....</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Are You Doing Next Thursday Night?

**Author's Note:**

> Note: this takes place right after [The Closest He Has To Family](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1171523) and will not make a lick of sense if you haven't read that one first.

“Steve? Are you - “

Sharon stopped dead at the sight of an empty cot, an equally empty IV stand next to it. A bloodstained sweater, tights, and tiny shorts that might have begun as a vintage attempt at a Captain America costume had been stuffed into a plastic bag and placed on an empty chair, right next to an orthopedic brace. Had he been discharged already? Moved to a different ward? Was he hurt worse than he'd let on?

“Sharon? Is that you?” Steve, in dark blue surgical scrubs that barely fit his enormous shoulders and were too big in the waist, limped out of the room's tiny bathroom. His cheeks were pink and slightly moist from a shower, his hair dark and damp and sticking straight up in front. A lime green athletic bandage was wrapped in a diamond pattern about his left elbow. “What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by HQ after we finished the clean up in Central Park.” She held up a small black duffel stamped with the SHIELD logo. “The Old Man figured you might need this.”

“My go-bag? That's great!” Even battered, bruised, and clearly exhausted, his face lit up when he smiled, and she couldn't help smiling back. “I was hoping someone would bring me a change of clothes. Whatever they washed this stuff in itches like crazy.”

Sharon peered at the scrubs as she handed over the duffel. They were patterned with snowflakes and happy dancing reindeer in a kick line, and was that really Santa slugging back a martini under a palm tree? “Those are certainly – Christmassy.”

“It's that time of the year, I guess.” He blew out a breath, then winced slightly and rubbed his bad leg. “Least it's not the Rockettes. Would you believe they actually wanted me to do a nightly walk-on for charity during the holiday show? I told 'em my chorus boy days ended in '43 but they kept asking till I got Fury involved. He wasn't happy.”

“I'll bet. The Old Man doesn't suffer fools gladly.” Sharon watched as he unzipped the bag and checked the contents. A mottled bluish patch on his jaw had visibly lightened as they talked. “I couldn't find a coat, I'm afraid. Just your sweats.”

“I'll be fine.” He turned, yanked the too-small scrub top over his head with only a very small rip on a side seam, and tossed it on the bed. Sharon got a glimpse of a body that was so perfectly muscled her mouth went dry before he'd pulled on a somewhat faded STARK INDUSTRIES sweatshirt. “I don't feel the cold that much these days.”

“That – that must be useful.“ Sharon deliberately turned her back as he blinked at his sweatpants, then at the lack of a privacy curtain. No wonder Aunt Peggy had groped him the moment he'd staggered out of the Project Rebirth apparatus. “You need a ride home? I have my car.”

“Probably. Even if I could drive with that brace on my leg, I don't know where Burnside parked my bike.” There was a faint swishing noise as he traded snowflakes and Santa Claus for plain dark fleece. “Drop me at the Tower? Figured I'd bunk there tonight at least.”

“I could take you all the way home,” said Sharon, mentally kicking herself as a shadow flitted across his face. ”Don't mention 'home' to him, darling,” Aunt Peggy had warned, “not until he's adjusted a bit more,” and of course she'd done exactly that. 

_Focus, Sharon. Focus._

“I mean, it's no trouble getting you across the river to Brooklyn. It's no big deal.”

“No, don't go out of your way. The Tower's better anyway since I won't have to wrestle this thing up three flights of stairs.” He reached for the brace, frowned slightly, then pushed his sleeve up enough to start unrolling the bandage. “Why does everything in this place itch? I told 'em I didn't need more than a Band-Aid but no, they had slap this thing on - “

“What happened?” said Sharon, stepping forward before she could think and helping him unwind the stretchy, rough synthetic. His skin was surprisingly soft, and slightly warmer than a normal human's. “Did you need extra fluids or pain meds? I didn't think you were that badly hurt.”

He pulled off the last inch of bandage to reveal a double gauze pad over the major vein in his elbow. “Not me, Burnside. His serum isn't – it's not the same as mine and I guess it couldn't handle him gettin' hit by a bus. Doctors said he still bleeding pretty bad so I donated a pint. Figured it couldn't hurt.”

There was the rattle of a gurney being wheeled past in the hall, and a low murmur of voices. Sharon waited for the sound to fade as the patient was whisked to another part of the hospital. “Did it work?”

“No one's said one way or the other.” Steve rubbed at his arm even though there wasn't so much as a red spot to show where the IV line had gone in. “I told the hospital he was my cousin since he didn't have any ID on him and I didn't want them to admit him as a charity case. Guess they bought it, at least for now.”

Sharon balled up the bandage around the gauze pad and shoved it into her pocket. She'd destroy it back at HQ before anyone was tempted to steal Captain America's DNA sample. “We'll take care of the bill, Steve. Take care of him. He's going to need a lot of help adjusting to the modern world once he's pulled through this.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Steve picked up the orthopedic brace, scowling at the straps and adjustable joints. “Say – can you give me a hand with this? It's kinda awkward to put it on by myself.”

“No problem. I had to wear one just like this after I hurt my knee playing field hockey when I was sixteen.” Sharon waited for him to ease the injured leg onto the chair before letting out the brace enough to accommodate his flawlessly muscled thigh. “Sprain?”

“Partial ACL tear,” he said, as calmly as if he were discussing the Food section of the _Times_ , and she couldn't hold back a sharp exclamation. He laughed, eyes dancing, and for the first time she saw the Brooklyn street rat behind the soldier. “If you could see your face – it's not that bad, honest. I keep tellin' people I took worse in the war and - “

“That doesn't mean it's good!” Sharon tightened a Velcro strap a bit more vigorously than was necessary. “I'm amazed they're letting you out with a torn ligament. You should be in surgery.”

“Sharon, it's fine. _I'm_ fine, or I will be.” He leaned forward enough to give her shoulder a light squeeze. His hand and wrist were fine enough that she had to wonder if this was one part of him that hadn't been affected by the serum. “Even if they had the drugs to knock me out long enough to operate, it'll heal on its own in a day, two tops. In a week it'll be like nothing ever happened.”

“You know, I think I read that somewhere,” said Sharon, ducking her head so he wouldn't see the sudden heat in her face. She finished adjusting the brace at the knee joint and gave his leg a little pat that almost turned into something more. “That doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“I don't much like it myself, but how do you put it today? 'It is what it is.'” The hand on her shoulder moved to her hair, and she couldn't shivering at the light, almost tentative caress. “I'll be fine.”

His fingertips were so warm, and his touch so controlled. Was he always so conscious of how strong he was compared to the rest of humanity? Or maybe – just maybe, the only date they'd had that wasn't related to the Burnside mess was Halloween, _don't be an idiot Sharon you're reading things into this cut it out_ \- was it something more?

“Well. That should hold.” Sharon stood, smiled quickly, and held out her hands to help him up. “You'll have to shove the passenger seat back far as it'll go if you want to stretch out, but if I go aerial it won't be for more than - “

“What are you doing next Thursday?”

“ - a few minutes and - “ Sharon froze, hands still locked on his forearms. “What did you just say?“

“I – I have tickets to a concert at the Cloisters next Thursday.” His voice was slightly higher than usual, with a breathy quality as if he feared what would happen if he inhaled too deeply. Was this what he had sounded like when he had asthma? “I – the Met gave me a lifetime membership since that poster's in their collection and means I get tickets to all their concerts. Would you like to come with me, maybe grab some dinner afterward? I gave a pair to Tony and Pepper but I was saving an extra so I could - ”

“You have tickets? To an early music concert?” Sharon's niece Shannon had been on a Middle Ages kick ever since she'd read _The Lord of the Rings_ , and that meant being dragged off to Fort Tryon Park every time Shannon made it into the city. “I didn't know you liked that kind of music.”

“Not sure if I do, but I'll never know until I try.” A single muscle twitched in his left cheek. “You don't have to come if you don't want to, Sharon. I can ask Nat or maybe Hill or - “

“I'd love to,” she blurted out, and the smile that bloomed on his face was so bright and beautiful she nearly forgot to breathe. “It sounds great.”

“Yeah. It does.” He had enough height on her that she had to tilt her head back to look him anywhere but the collarbone. “Especially – especially if it's - “

“Yeah?” she echoed, moving her hands up to rest on his biceps.

“If it's you,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

She met him partway, already half on her toes as they came together. It was clear he hadn't done this much – his nose bumped hers for an instant, and he had no idea what to do with his tongue until she took control – but oh, oh, _oh_ , his mouth was soft. She closed her eyes and made a tiny sound as he slowly slipped his arms around her, gentle and careful and so unlike Neal's rough, casual hugs. Her hands dug into his shoulders, and yes, they were every bit as solid and strong as they looked.

Eventually it ended – he could hold his breath for six minutes, she couldn't – and he cautiously brought a hand up to cradle her cheek. 

“I've wanted to do that for a while,” he said. He lightly traced the curve of her face, gaze intent. “I hope it wasn't too – we used to say 'forward,' I don't know what you'd call it now. “

Sharon shivered again at the delicate, deliberate touch. If liking this made her an idiot, so be it. “You aren't the only one. Pretending to date you was pretty frustrating.”

“That's one way to put it.” He kissed her again, slow and sweet and just thorough enough to hint at more to come. “Having to act like we were an item when we weren't was pretty rough.”

“Isn't that the truth?” She relaxed against him, sighing with pleasure as he held her close and murmured her name. 

A light tap on the door frame jerked them upright and out of each others' arms. A slender, black haired woman in surgical scrubs smiled apologetically. “Captain Rogers? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I thought you should know that Dr. Burnside's condition has been upgraded from critical to stable.”

Steve straightened, taking on the mantle of Captain America so easily that one would never had guessed that he hadn't been born that way. “That's good news. Thank you for letting me know, Doctor.”

“Thank you for agreeing to the transfusion. Without it he wouldn't have lasted till dawn.” The doctor glanced at his leg. “How are you feeling? That was a nasty ACL tear. The senior orthopedic resident just came out of surgery and could take a look.”

He shook his head. “Better than I did two hours ago. I'll be fine.”

She took a step toward him, eyebrows arching as she noted the lack of bruises on his face. “In that case, go home and get some rest. Just make sure you see your own doctor for a once-over. You took a few good hits, you know.”

“That I do.” He waited for her to hold out her hand to shake, exactly the way Sharon's father always had. “Thank you, doctor. I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you, Captain.” The doctor hesitated, noticed Sharon's duty uniform, and shook hands with her as well. “Good night.”

“Good night,” said Steve. He waited until she'd disappeared into the steady stream of orderlies and visitors and patients before turning back to Sharon. “Guess I'm officially discharged.”

“Guess so.” She wrapped an arm around his waist so he could let her take some of the weight as he slowly started for the door. “You know, I could try to scare up a cane somewhere.”

“And let Clint and Tony make 'old man jokes'? Nope,” he said, laughing softly as they made their way into the corridor. “Got all the help I need right now.”

“Yeah?” Sharon smiled up at him, pulse quickening slightly as he smiled back. 

“Yeah,” he said, and let her guide him toward the elevator.


End file.
